


i'm the one you tell your fears to

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Fic, awkward boys, i wrote this over a year ago holy moses, season 2 or 3-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey wasn't supposed to feel anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the one you tell your fears to

This is a bad idea.

The walk and the cold wind blowing on his face and seeping through his clothes sobers Mickey up enough to that fact and as the Gallagher house comes in to view, Mickey wants to turn and run. He wants to go back to the alley they’d been drinking in and pretend Ian hadn’t been able to convince him to spend the night with just a smile and a well placed hand on his thigh.

But Ian had also whined that it was cold and they were almost out of alcohol and he had a fridge full of beer, so Mickey tries to tell himself that’s what it was all about. Not the smile and the touching. Nope.

Ian’s walking next to him with the same stupid smile, his hands stuffed into his pockets and Mickey can practically feel the smug happiness radiating off him. The asshole.

As they get to the front gate, Mickey stops. He drains the rest of his whiskey and looks at the dark house with a frown, feeling something creeping up his back, but he sighs and tosses the bottle on to the road. He didn’t want to be there, it was just too much, but it was also too late to back out now.

"You sure no one’s home?"

"Yes, for the last time…" Ian starts going through the various locations of his family members for the third time, ticking them off on his long fingers, and Mickey flips him off.

"Will you, ya know… check?" Mickey nods to the house and Ian turns to him with disbelief showing on his face.

"Seriously?" And he gives Mickey this look, like he knows Mickey’s stalling on purpose.

Mickey just blinks at him. Ian sighs and shakes his head, but runs up the front steps regardless. He leaves the front door open and Mickey sees light start flooding through the windows. He can hear Ian yelling shit like, “Oh dear family of mine, I have a boy outside please ambush him now!” and Mickey hates himself for snorting out a laugh.

Ian, grin wide and looking so fucking pleased with himself, comes back, leans against the door jam, and gestures inside. He arches his eyebrows, like he’s fucking challenging Mickey or something. Mickey ambles up the steps and when he passes Ian, he mutters, “Fuckhead.” Ian laughs at him.

The inside of the house is much like Mickey had imagined. It’s a lot like his house, minus the weapons on every open surface. The furniture is old, stained and beat up, the walls are covered in peeling paint and wallpaper, it smells like cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. There are photos on the fireplace mantle and Mickey recognizes some bits of laundry that belong to Ian.

Ian bumps shoulders with him as he walks past. Mickey watches him take his coat off and toss it over the side of the couch, moving through the house with ease. Mickey remains in the front room, looking back at the front door, feeling out of place and awkward as fuck.

"Hungry?" Ian calls back to him, disappearing from Mickey’s sight. He hears the fridge open and some clinking.

"Nah." Mickey looks around, sees old toys and a playpen, and there’s this sheet tacked to the underneath of the staircase that catches his attention. Mickey shuffles over to it and lifts one corner. His slight tipsiness gets the better of him and he lowers himself to the floor and crawls in. Sort of. He can’t fit his legs without curling up into a ball and since he’s not a 12 year old girl, he kind of sprawls out on his back, the top half of his body underneath the stairs, with his legs splayed out on the floor outside the sheet.

He looks up and sees a bunch of cartoon stickers and what seems like hundreds of those tiny little glow in the dark stars stuck to the top of the wood and Mickey can make out faint little scratches off to the side. Squinting his eyes at the scratches, he can see letters and numbers and he realizes he’s reading the names of each Gallagher kid.

He can hear Ian moving around in the kitchen. He’s talking about some shit, he asks what Mickey wants to do, what they should do with the whole house to themselves. There’s a pause and Mickey thinks he should’ve been paying more attention to what Ian was saying because he hears his name called with a slight panic, and then he hears pounding steps that stop next to his legs.

Then Ian’s lifting the sheet, his face peeking in and Mickey sees some relief written on it.

"I thought you took off," Ian says a little sheepishly and Mickey feels his chest twist. Of course he would have thought that with Mickey not saying shit and all but disappearing under his fucking stairs like a pussy.

Before Mickey can say anything, Ian’s pushing the top half of his body underneath the stairs with him. He hands Mickey a beer, half of which he chugs immediately. He settles his head back on the floor and looks up again.

Mickey burps. Ian chuckles.

Mickey lifts his hand and his finger traces the little scratches of Ian’s name above them.

"This was our hiding place," Ian says quietly, watching Mickey’s hand. "It was Fiona’s first. When we were little and Frank and Monica would have bad nights and we were too young to know we could leave…" Ian sighs and Mickey drops his hand. He tilts his head to the side, feels it brush against Ian’s. He knows all about bad nights. He and Mandy used to hide out in his room on bad nights. He gets it.

They lay there, sipping beer and looking up and Mickey feels warm and comfortable, even though the floor is hard and it’s cramped under there with the two of them. Ian’s feet lightly kick against his and Mickey plays with a loose thread on Ian’s jeans.

After a while, once they finished their beers, Ian scoots out from under the stairs and Mickey follows. Ian leads him up to the second floor, telling him to watch out for toys and shit and laughing when Mickey still trips over them.

When they get to Ian’s room, Ian stands off to the side, awkwardly twisting his hands and looking at Mickey’s face.

Mickey looks around. It’s not hard to tell which corner is Ian’s. The walls are covered in Marines, Army and ROTC shit, along with drawings he recognizes as Mandy’s work. He knows he’s sort of a piece of shit to feel a slight pang of jealousy at not having any representation on Ian’s walls, it’s his own fault and his own hang ups after all, but he still feels it.

He walks around slowly, kicking at a few of Ian’s shoes, his backpack, other things, before he gets to Ian’s bed. He kicks his own shoes off along with his jacket and then flops face first onto Ian’s bed.

His face smacks into Ian’s pillow and he takes a deep breath, letting Ian’s familiar smell surround him. It smells clean and warm and good. Not like anything else Mickey’s ever known. Ian is like nothing else Mickey’s ever known. And he feels like he fits there, like he belongs there. The realization hits Mickey hard and he has to close his eyes and press his face in to Ian’s pillow a little harder, breathes it all in and tries to keep the little panic attack he feels coming at bay.

This is why coming here was a bad idea. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mickey wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He wasn’t supposed to drink beer with Ian and feel fucking emotional attachments to his childhood hiding place and what the fucker puts on his bedroom walls. He wasn’t supposed to bellyflop onto Ian’s bed and wish he could smell his pillow every damn day. He wasn’t supposed to want any of it, to know any of it. He wasn’t supposed to feel at home. With Ian. But fucking hell. It was all there and it was starting to suffocate him.

And cue panic attack.

He feels Ian’s eyes on him and he stays on his stomach for a few more seconds getting a fucking grip before flipping on to his back. Ian’s standing next to his bed, looking down at Mickey with this light, happy expression that tells him Ian must have just realized the same things Mickey did. Mickey lets out a shuddering breath and bites his lip, trying to keep it all inside. Ian blinks and tilts his head, his expression changing to one of understanding and Mickey looks up at the ceiling.

His fingers pick at the sheets beneath him and he stares at the ceiling, panic and sappy shit swirling in his stomach, making it ache. It all scares the shit out of him and he wants to get up and run, but Ian’s kneeling on the bed, still looking at Mickey like something monumental is happening, and he knows he can’t just leave. 

Ian stretches out next to him, propping his elbow on the mattress, holding his head up to watch Mickey.

"Please don’t freak out."

"I’m not." Total bullshit, but Ian lets it go.

"I’ve thought about this. You. Here. A lot-"

"Man. Stop talking," Mickey says, without any bite because he’s thought about it too and he likes but it’s still pressing against his chest. He just can’t say it. Ian saying it makes him want to and he just can’t.

Ian presses his lips tightly together and doesn’t say anything else.

Eventually Ian’s arm must get tired, because he stretches out on his side. Mickey flips on to his side so they’re facing each other and Ian’s hand plays with his hair.

They’re both scooting in closer every once in awhile, so Mickey doesn’t feel weird when they’re almost nose to nose and their lips meet.

As Ian climbs on top of him and their tongues clash, everything starts to disappear until the only things Mickey is aware of are Ian, his hands and Mickey’s heart racing, thudding in his chest.

And as the clothes come off and Ian breathes hot on his neck and Mickey wraps his legs around Ian’s waist, something kind of clicks in his head. The pressure starts to loosen slightly and his head clears as they start to move together.

If this is what it’s like, belonging to Ian, if it’s smiles and beer and Ian’s hand pressing against his cheek while he’s on top of him and if they move together… then Mickey knows he doesn’t want to belong anywhere else.


End file.
